Dancing with Mephisto
by Ardvari
Summary: Spoilers for upcoming episodes! They must be missing something, there was probably a tiny grain of information eluding them and it would solve the case and put that bastard behind bars.


**Disclaimer: **Nope. Not mine.

I wrote this while I was supposed to write my British Literature Essay (which I still haven't written). I guess I should go do that since it's due tomorrow... ;)

**Dancing with Mephisto**

The smell of apples and ginger hung in the air; Grissom took a deep breath and let his gaze travel around the room to figure out where the smell came from. His eyes settled on the large scented candles, burning steadily in the middle of the many dinner tables. Piano music floated out of the speakers mounted on the wall across from him.

He wondered why Sara had wanted to come here; this wasn't usually a place she chose for their quiet Friday night dinner. To the sound of Beethoven's ninth he made his way to a table in the corner. She was reading something, a file folder open in front of her. He could just make out her eyes skimming the page restlessly in the low light, noticed how her brow was furrowed, a definite sign of how concentrated she was.

Quietly he slipped into the booth across from her and rested his arms on the table. She looked up, her eyes shooting him a questioning look as if she had expected to see someone else. _Of course she hadn't expected anybody else._

"Hi." he stated simply, snuck his hand across the table and squeezed her hand. She opened her hand, rested her fingers against his and smiled.

"Hi. I was so caught up in this report I didn't even hear you coming." she said apologetically and closed the folder. There would be enough time later to read through it again, for the millionth time to see if they _really _hadn't missed anything. The killer was eluding them and while she was starting to get antsy about the whole thing, she knew that he was more worried than he'd ever been in his life.

"Found anything?" he asked as he slowly read the menu. He liked this place, although it wasn't one of his favorites, too dark, trying too hard to be Italian. They did have good food though and he noticed how hungry he actually was.

She shook her head and took a sip of water. They must be missing something, there was probably a tiny grain of information eluding them and it would solve the case and put that bastard behind bars. They just had to _find_ it. She was starting to get as obsessed with the case as he was. At least she didn't spend her nights awake in the study, building miniatures in order to get into the killer's head.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" she asked softly. He looked at her for a moment, as if he was thinking about it. Then he shook his head no and went back to reading the menu before she could say anything. Usually he was the one making sure that _she_ slept as much as she should. The case was getting to him, he needed it to break. He needed something to happen, anything that would give them a clue as to what was going on. He needed to know what the killer thought, how he thought and where he was going with his seemingly random killings. It made him uneasy, as always, to think that the killer might be smarter than him.

Sara shut her menu and put it down on the table. She looked around the room, watched as couples toasted to whatever they felt was worth toasting about. Her eyes settled on Grissom who was still studying the menu. He was deep in thought, anger and frustration had etched themselves into the lines on his face. Slowly she stretched her leg, made contact with his and rubbed her foot against his calf.

Immediately he looked up and caught her smiling. He coughed, shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

"Sorry, I was…" he trailed off and closed the menu as well.

"I know, you don't have to apologize."

They ordered their dishes and ate in silence. One of the things Grissom loved about their relationship was that they didn't need to talk. They understood each other without words and it still amazed him how well Sara could read him. They were comfortable, as comfortable as they could possibly be at times like these.

After supper he moved over to her side of the table, slid on the bench beside her until their shoulders touched and placed the open folder in front of them. Together they hunkered over the notes, the different cases, the pictures. All those people, seemingly unrelated, had died at the hand of one killer. The killings had been brutal, carefully planned and well executed. It wasn't the brutality Grissom had problems with. If he was honest with himself, he'd seen worse. The killings wouldn't even make his top ten list. It was the eeriness of a person out there creeping into someone else's life, finding out whatever he could only to kill that person. The fact that the killer was mocking him, playing games while he was probably already working on his next deadly miniature. How many people would have to die before they could solve the crime?

He took a sip of water and set it down on the table a little too hard, water sloshing over the rim and onto the tablecloth. Sara threw him a concerned look he decided to ignore and stared at the last picture of the mysterious doll that seemed to connect everything. He had read somewhere that it wasn't good or healthy for a relationship when people brought their work home. That didn't seem to be an issue with him and Sara. They worked well together, even at home.

When she had found the beginnings of his own miniature, she had been surprised, maybe even a little freaked out. She knew he wanted to know how long it would take to build a miniature like that. He was almost done now, it had taken him weeks. Weeks in which the bed had stayed cold at night, weeks in which she had thought he might just kill himself working on that damn thing. But no, Grissom was patient as he tried to climb into the killer's head to see how the bastard ticked.

"What makes you tick?" she muttered under her breath and Grissom turned to look at her. Her brown hair was swept back into a messy ponytail, something she rarely did unless the stuck beneath a car or working in some other dirty environment. Her face was glowing in the soft candlelight, her cheeks slightly rosy. She was beautiful, really. Her question had not been directed at him, she was trying to give her thoughts a direction, keep them focused.

They didn't have time for wandering minds. Two hours before shift started and he wanted to come to the lab with something new on the case. Just a hairline of a break. He was getting frustrated and weary and almost wished he could go back to the East Coast and leave everything behind. Everything but Sara. The case was taking a toll on both of them. Maybe they could go away together for a while once this ordeal was over. He gave himself a mental kick for letting his thoughts travel to destinations that were so much more pleasant than the subject he was supposed to be thinking about. It was unrealistic to think they would go anywhere. They loved their work; a week's holiday somewhere nice and warm would make them nervous, would take them out of their element and leave them stranded in foreign territory. It just wasn't them. Still… maybe he'd be able to coax her into taking a vacation.

Sara leaned back in the booth with a sigh an hour later. She closed her eyes and ran a hand across them. She felt like someone looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. She knew it was _there_ she just didn't know where exactly. Surely they were missing something, no killer was perfect. Even this sick bastard was making mistakes. And they were letting him get away with them.

Grissom sat back as well and closed the folder. Nothing. For the millionth time they had looked at this thing and it had given them nothing. The evidence wasn't speaking to them and the words on the many pages stared blankly back at them as they tried to coax an answer out of them. He sighed in frustration, ready to tear his hair out.

Sara nudged him softly with her elbow, shook him out of his reverie and snuck her hand into his under the table. He smiled wistfully. They couldn't let the killer get to them. They needed to get under _his_ skin, not the other way around. Whatever they did, they needed to do it fast, needed to do it before someone else died.

Sarah Brightman's lovely voice had long since replaced the soft Piano music. He wanted to get out of the restaurant, wanted to go for a drive through the desert to clear his head. Half an hour until they had to be at the lab.

People were starting to wonder if they would ever solve the case. The team with the highest solving rate was stuck at a dead end. He hated the fact that the gossip that was going on affected him so much. Usually he didn't let trivial things like that get to him but this time it was different. The killer had gotten to his nerves, had rubbed them raw and Grissom was constantly on edge.

He was on edge when he was lying awake at night, listening to Sara's steady breathing. Nightmares crept into his head, dreams of Sara dying, of the killer trying to get to him through her. He couldn't imagine what he would do without her. They had just started to build a life together. What the hell was he supposed to do without her? A pang of regret kicked him in the stomach, regret for having waited this long to let her in, let her love him and loving her back, finally. If he lost her now… better not go there. Better not think about all these things. He had to think about how to catch this lunatic, catch him before anything _could_ happen.

As they walked out into the chilly desert night, he draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Slowly they made their way across the parking lot where his car sat next to hers, gleaming under the streetlights. He would watch out for her. He would make sure nothing was going to happen to her. He had to because if anything happened to her he was sure he'd lose his mind. If he lost her, he thought he just might kill that obsessive little bastard, smash all of those miniatures over his head. For some reason, doing that was a comforting thought.

The End.


End file.
